


Midsummer

by silriven



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Developing Relationship, Festivals, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Midsummer, No Plot/Plotless, One Shot, Picnics, absolutely no plot there's nothing here sorry, at least i finally wrote about something other than the divine bell incident good for me, everything is beautiful and mostly nothing hurts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:34:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24963085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silriven/pseuds/silriven
Summary: The king and his advisor attend the first Midsummer Fire Festival following N'zoth's defeat.
Relationships: Wrathion/Anduin Wrynn
Comments: 6
Kudos: 62





	Midsummer

**Author's Note:**

> This is a one-shot written for the wranduin discord server's June 2020 prompt, "colors."

The afternoon sun beat down upon the road from Stormwind City to Goldshire. The heat in the air was strengthened from the summer bonfires that had been lit in ornate braziers placed along the way. Anduin could not find reason to complain. Dressed in a simple light tunic and breeches, it felt good to stretch his legs. Coming off of a long summer morning spent within the muggy walls of the Keep, he relished the open air and sun on his fair skin. It was a rare moment of respite, bundled in the guise of his yearly duty to help light the bonfires at the first night of Midsummer Fire celebrations. The walk was lasting twice as long as it normally would, even with taking his limp into consideration, though this was not through his own doing.

“Look here, these flames burn with a most unusual hue,” Wrathion noted, long neck craned back as he studied the offering perched atop one of the many wooden posts that had been erected along the roads the day before. From each one hung a vibrant crimson banner bearing the teal and gold emblem of the Summer Skies and Flames. “Yet I detect no magic. Intriguing.”

Anduin hid his smile as he glanced up at the painted brass basin. The flames that licked the open air were an unnatural orange and turquoise.

“I believe they put a special type of material in with the coals in the braziers,” the king said as he made his way down the dusty road, walking past where the dragon stood analyzing the flames. “Not unlike fireworks.”

“Ah,” Wrathion exhaled a breath of satisfaction as he took two long strides to catch up with the king, the ends of his sash swaying around his knees. "I see. So, it must likely be a type of metal salt worked into the slow burning fuel. There, I can even smell a whiff of it now that we are downwind. How innovative you mortals can be.”

Anduin shrugged, choosing not to admit that he had never once before given the trick much thought. He grew up seeing those fires every summer apart from a few tumultuous years in his youth during his father’s disappearance. Having Wrathion around as an official advisor yielded the unexpected benefit of having a fresh pair of curious eyes around to notice all of the details that had long faded into the year's routine. Though Anduin would never admit it out loud, a new favorite activity of his was taking Wrathion along as an escort so that he could watch the dragon's reaction to experiencing Stormwind’s holiday celebrations for the first time. It was his first year serving as an official advisor in Anduin’s council and the king was doing everything he could think of to ease the dragon’s transition into Stormwind society.

Goldshire's approach was marked by the sound of beating drums from the band playing on a raised wooden stage in the center of the town. As they drew closer to the heart of the Elwynn Forest festivities, the road became dense with summer market stalls, piled with farmer’s wares and more unusual items brought in from traveling merchants hoping to take advantage of the increase in crowds across the Eastern Kingdoms. Anduin maintained a slow, leisurely pace, smiling and exchanging greetings and midsummer wishes with his people while Wrathion orbited, never too far out of range, the dragon’s ever keen eyes taking note of each and every item on the tables. The king absorbed most of the crowd's attention, but Wrathion couldn’t help but stand out, drawing the occasional curious glance from anyone who noticed the subtle glow from his red eyes in the daylight.

After spending far too long captive to an impromptu meeting with Stormwind’s minister of agriculture, Anduin lost track of Wrathion's presence until he spotted the olive green turban sticking out above the crowd. He found the dragon engaged in animated conversation with a tailor in front of a stall stacked with bolts of colorful fabrics and gleaming spools of embroidery thread.

“Good midsummer to you, Your Majesty,” the tailor said with a bow.

“A warm midsummer to you as well,” Anduin returned with an incline of his head. “Please, carry on, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Not at all, Your Majesty,” Wrathion gave the king a roguish smile. “You were, in fact, the very topic of our conversation. I was just telling this master artisan how the King of Stormwind could do with a little more color in his wardrobe.”

Anduin’s brows arched in surprise, though he smiled with good humor as he crossed his arms over his chest. He took the opportunity to lean against the rough wood post of the stall and rest his right leg. “Is that so? And why am I the last to be informed that I have a new fashion advisor in addition to the privilege of your other talents, Black Prince?”

“No insult intended, I assure you,” Wrathion said, his smile growing as he exchanged a knowing glance with the tailor, who was hiding his own smirk by pretending to straighten the already orderly display of fabrics on the table that separated them. “I cannot help but notice that the royal seamstress hasn’t had much to occupy their hands lately. The man is in his cups most nights lamenting the waste of his talent on a second generation of Wrynn kings who prefer the same three elementary styles that first came into fashion a decade prior.”

Anduin smiled at the memory of his late father, who, in his reign's later years, prior to his fall before the Burning Legion, lost his will to keep up with the latest court styles. Varian Wrynn let the same leniency extend to his son.

“One advantages of simple clothing is that it is slower to fall out of style,” Anduin said, watching Wrathion’s long, nimble fingers weave through the strips of samples hanging in a rainbow gradient from the top of the stall. “It’s more economical to avoid constructing a new wardrobe every season.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Wrathion plucked a strip of deep maroon silk and held it up to the side of the king’s face. “But I’ve found that decorating one’s body in comfortable and interesting clothing is an unexpected pleasure of mortal life.”

Anduin held his head still as he allowed Wrathion to gauge the compatibility of different fabric patterns against the shade of his blond hair. The tailor had respectfully turned his shoulder to them and was sneaking curious but not unkind glances while he pretended to unload more samples from a crate.

“I have many ways to indulge myself," the young king said. "Spending an hour fussing over shirts is not one of them.”

“Oh, do you, now?” It was Wrathion’s to arch an eyebrows as he let a ribbon of sky blue satin flick over the king’s nose and brow, causing the other man to squint and wrinkle his nostrils. “The last time I heard news of His Majesty enjoying himself, it was to steal an extra hour of sleep on the weekend.”

“You are correct. I treasure that memory, fondly.”

Wrathion’s fingertip was, at once, beneath the king’s chin. Anduin felt his heart flutter as the dragon applied only the slightest amount of pressure to tilt his face upward.

“Consider that it would be a pleasure for all of us to see our king adorned in a tunic that brings out the color of his eyes.”

Anduin freed his chin from the dragon’s gentle touch, feeling a blush work its way across his cheeks and chest. He cleared his throat and made an excuse about how he needed to find something to quench his thirst.

After obtaining cups of lemonade and baskets of smoked honeyed salmon with cucumbers, Anduin made his way to the edge of the festival. A small musical troupe was playing vibrant fiddle music to accompany the ribbon pole and line dancers amidst the trees that marked the edge of the forest. Picnic goers were spread out across the green lawn, watching the dancers as they ate. The smell from the grills and fire pits drifted in the breeze that passed over the area, bringing with it the scent of the sharp spices used in the barbecue rub for the meats.

There, Anduin found Wrathion squatting on his heels to better address an audience of young draenei and human children, who were watching in rapt awe as he summoned patterns of sparking fire illusions in the shapes of animals mid-air. They shrieked and gave chase as he sent the enchantments leaping and flying across the grass. The dragon indulged a shy draenei girl who clung to the fabric of his billowing pants with a gentle butterfly that perched on her small hand when she reached out for it. Scattered adults, most likely parents, were keeping an eye on the scene as they watched the ribbon pole dancers. Warmth bloomed within Anduin’s chest as he noticed that all of the observing faces were friendly.

When Wrathion at last noticed the king lounging on his elbows in the patch of grass he had claimed, he dispersed the group with a final shower of harmless sparks. The ensuing chaos allowed him to slip away unencumbered to join Anduin on the ground.

“How are you holding up, Your Majesty?” Wrathion asked as he snatched up a piece of crispy, sweet glazed fish from one of the baskets in his fingers.

“I’m glad to say that somehow I’m finding the strength to endure this torturous afternoon,” Anduin said with a genuine smile as he let his head fall back between his shoulders.

He closed his eyes as the sun washed across his entire face. Somewhere past the pink-tinged map of shadows and light on the insides of his eyelids, the dragon’s voice reached out through the hot afternoon haze.

“What is the purpose of this pole? Surely the goal is not to merely decorate the thing in so many ribbons? If so, it is perhaps the most inefficient way that one could do so.”

“It’s more of an excuse for the dancing,” Anduin admitted as he lifted his head, opening his eyes again to watch the gathering. “Once it’s covered, everyone adorns the folds of the final weave with flowers and it stays up as a decoration until the end of the festival.”

The dance had been going on mostly likely since the morning, but there was still a ways to go before the ribbons were spent. The midsummer colors of orange, blue, red, and yellow were forming a beautiful braid up the length of the wood in their random patterns.

“Is this something that you used to do?” Wrathion asked as he stroked his beard, fingers taking care to sure that the ends were still more or less in their rough pointed shape.

Anduin lifted his shoulders in a brief shrug. “No, not really. Even when I could dance, I didn’t care much for the crowding. I never stayed longer than what was required to satisfy my social obligation as Crown Prince.”

He grimaced somewhat at the memory of bumping shoulders and tripping over uneven ground. As he got older, unwanted attention from the occasional girl trapped next to him in the circle made him even more uncomfortable.

Anduin rubbed a hand self-consciously over the top of his right thigh, fingers running up to where the end of the prosthetic’s hard socket met the top of his hip. “I’m honestly glad to have an excuse to sit out.”

The fiddlers had paused in their playing in order to take long drinks of water. Dancers took the opportunity in the lull to swap in and out of the ribbon circle.

“You should join them,” Anduin said, nodding his head in their direction. “If only once, just to see what it’s like for yourself.”

It would also do some good for Wrathion’s perception in the eyes of his people if they had the opportunity to see the dragon dancing amongst them. Anduin kept this thought to himself, though, loath to spoil the mood of the beautiful day by reminding Wrathion that there might be a need to do that.

Wrathion let out a small hum as he contemplated this proposition. The gold bangles on his wrists clinked together as he folded his arms across the tops of his knees, drawn up near his chest. With a succession of shouts accompanied by three stomps of a boot heel, the fiddlers struck up again, playing the opening bars to an old folk tune that Anduin recognized. The king tapped his finger across the tip of his knee and began to quietly sing along under his breath. It took him a while to realize that Wrathion's gaze was directed his way, the dragon watching him instead. Anduin felt the heat return to his face and his tongue felt silent.

“Please continue, Your Majesty.”

The years had removed the edge from Wrathion’s expression. The emotions he betrayed these days were kinder without the carefully crafted mask of smugness and certainty he so often hide behind in his youth. It was not uncommon now for Anduin to find himself thrown by the new sincerity, uncertain how to balance these soft pauses in their sly banter.

“I am unfamiliar with much of your people’s music," Wrathion continued. "As with much of their culture. It would be prudent to learn more, considering my position, don't you agree?”

Anduin cleared his throat, choosing to delay his response by draining the rest of the lemonade, despite the knowledge that the sugar and fruit would do nothing to help his vocal chords.

“This song is one that’s heard fairly often during this time of year,” the king explained while his nervous fingers tapped the empty cup against his titanium leg, still in rhythm with the fiddlers. “The lyrics tell a story about two young lovers anticipating the summer harvests, since those are some of the only times they are able to meet and talk in private, from the safety of the tall plants in the fields.”

"I see. What is it about this song that your people enjoy so much?"

"Oh, the sentiment, I suppose. It brings back fond memories of previous summers, as well as anticipation for what the new season will bring."

Wrathion was still watching him. Anduin tried once more to direct the dragon's attention back to the dancers.

“You’ll miss your chance to dance if you wait too long,” the king said, gesturing again. “The ribbons won’t last forever.”

Wrathion remained quiet for another moment, his head tilted to one side.

“I think I would rather stay here. Better to enjoy both your company and the sound of your voice.” A small smirk caused the corners of Wrathion's mouth to turn up beneath his beard "And I find it somewhat amusing to watch the sunburn grow on your face."

Anduin did not quite know why this made him want to laugh, but he did so regardless. He rubbed his nose, certain that his blush was exaggerating the color, and found the resolve to pick up the song again. This time, he sang a little louder and put more emphasis on enunciating the words than keeping the tune for Wrathion's benefit. The sun would be setting soon and with it would come a return to his duty to address the crowd in a stately yet cordial manner before blessing the first official bonfire. Later, there would be more talking and navigating difficult social conversation in the dark night-washed fields with political figures from Stormwind over berries and sweet cream. For now, Anduin was content to lay in the sun-warmed grass while he allowed himself to indulge in the thought of standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Wrathion, circling the midsummer pole with strands of colorful ribbon bound between their hands.


End file.
